


Tea Party

by MoshiMoshiTitanDesu



Category: 2P Hetalia - Fandom, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 03:49:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7997518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoshiMoshiTitanDesu/pseuds/MoshiMoshiTitanDesu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>happy birthday? argh</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tea Party

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wylanhendriks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wylanhendriks/gifts).



> im sorry its kinda really shitty,,,,,

It was a chamber, standing in the middle of nowhere, dead silent and strangely familiar. At least, Francis couldn’t bring himself to remember where he had seen it. How he got here? He didn’t know.

It was a resting place, made for convivial get-togethers and warm tea drinking times with loved ones. Or at least, that is what Francis concluded from contemplating the simple ceramic table for two he was sitting at, and the pure porcelain dolls with empty eyes carefully placed on the shelves covering the white walls. Who put them here? He didn’t know.

When Francis lifted his eyes up from their delicate frozen features, he could see the ornamented overhanging pale ceiling, adorned with flowers made of stone that looked like they were still alive and trying to grow in vain beneath the coldness of the roof. The lightness of the air was filled with a fresh and clean scent of white sugar. Francis could hear his own shallow breath. However, the sound wasn’t spreading through the nearly empty room and was coming out almost like muffled. For now, silence was king.

The stillness making him feel stressful, Francis looked at down at his linked fingers, then shifted in the chair as he began twisting and fidgeting with his hands. They were beginning to get sweaty. Feverishly, he glanced at the dolls surroundings him, one to one. And they looked back, their eyes mocking. A feeling of dread was coming over him.

But the room was sleeping, peaceful as a cemetery.

  


Someone was sitting in the chair before him.

“Arthur?”

Francis’s dry throat made the word come out as a whisper.

Strangely, he wasn’t so surprised by his sudden presence. He was just used to saying the name, it was like a reflex.

Arthur’s head was turned to the side, staring at nothing in particular, looking bored. He said nothing. Francis wondered when and how he had got here considering there were no doors or windows but he eventually decided it wasn’t so important. He also decided to ignore the fact that the pale light in the room was coming from nowhere. Looking down again, he sighed.

Arthur was now drumming his fingers on the table, still looking anywhere but at Francis, trying to find a distraction. His eyes shifted from a doll, to the corner of the room, to the table before him, to another doll, to the ticking clock. The ticking clock? Francis didn’t even bother to ask where it had come from this time.

The second hand was moving regularly. Seconds passed. Tick… tock… tick… tock… one… two… three… four… Francis counted them.

He looked at the clock and read the time. His glaze locked on the second hand and he followed it with his eyes. One… two… three… four… five… Francis’s attention turned back to Arthur when he heard him sigh.

“The tea tasted particularly good today, didn’t it.”

Francis didn’t remember having tea earlier in the day.

“It’s usually too sugary but this time it was perfect,” continued Arthur. “Not too much sugar, and not not enough sugar. Some people can’t even tell the difference but personally I think it’s important. If you want to make good tea, you have to be able to measure the amount of sugar you need.”

Francis was staring blankly at him. Tick… tock… one… two… three…

“And sometimes you don’t need sugar at all.”

Francis had always believed in love at first sight, and had always ignored people who told him it didn’t exist. It had never happened to him before, but he had persisted in believing. And when he had laid his eyes on Arthur that day, he just knew it. And it had been so, so long ago.

“There are also times when people leave the tea to cool down for too long and it gets cold. It’s such a shame when it happens.”

However, this warm feeling inside his chest had never died. It was still there ever since. But right now Arthur seemed to be so far away…

“Contrary to what some think, the tea set is very important.”

Tick… tock… So far away, and completely out of reach, yet he was just at the other side of the table… One… two… three… four…

“Porcelain tea sets are quite nice. But not any porcelain. I like the one you’re made of, for instance.”

Francis stopped counting and lifted his head up at Arthur. “What are you…”

He slowly lowered his eyes at himself. The skin of hands was pale, almost white.

Dry.

Cold.

Hard.

Any trace of warmness that had once been there was gone.

Suddenly, he felt something that throbbing inside his chest.

“Arthur…”

But Arthur wasn’t paying attention. “You should avoid using teabags, however, it’s obvious that they do not make the best tea.”

His chest throbbed again, harder this time. Francis couldn’t help but put a hand over it, gripping his shirt in an attempt to reduce the pain.

“Arthur…” he repeated, louder this time.

Arthur had stopped talking. Francis looked up.

“Arthur…?”

It was still Arthur sitting before him. Only, this one was… different. Reddish blonde hair, freckles, bright blue eyes matching his bow tie, candy pink shirt. A cup of tea was on the table.

Francis opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by the ache flaring up again. The sudden sharp pain forced him to double up, teeth clenching so hard his jaw hurt.

“Arthur, please…”

But the real Arthur was gone.

“… come back…”

Gone.

The other Arthur didn’t even seem to acknowledge his presence. He was staring off into the distance, looking at Francis without really seeing him. But suddenly his vision focused.

“Those aren’t even yours,” he said.

Wondering what he was talking about, Francis did his best to ignored whatever was hitting his chest from inside and shoot him an interrogative look.

“Your hands,” the fake Arthur explained. “They aren’t yours. You stole them from someone else.”

“I never—”

“Liar. I know you’re lying. You stole them, and those arms too!”

His hands and arms were still tightly wrapped around him. He turned his head to look at them. They were white. They were made of porcelain. And they weren’t his. His hands were not like that. They were a bit bigger, his fingers a bit longer. So whose were they?

“You had no right!”

Francis was becoming sick of this man. He just wanted Arthur, Arthur would protect him. And, as if he had heard his wish, Arthur was back, replacing his other version, and the silence was back with him. The room was still again.

Tick… tock…

And then Arthur was gone again, replaced with the crazy one.

“Thief! You’re a thief!” he continued to blame Francis. He turned to the dolls on the shelves around him. “Do you see what he did?”

The thing trying to escape Francis’s chest was now hammering.

“Stop… stop… Arthur, please, where are you…”

“He’s just fake! All fake! None of his body parts is actually his!”

The dolls were watching him suffer, judging him for something he hadn’t done.

“Fake! Just fake!”

Tears were beginning to roll on Francis’s cheeks.

“Go away… you… you aren’t… where’s Arthur…”

He heard something crack.

“Fake!”

Francis desperately shook his head. The word was echoing in his head. Fake, fake, fake, voices were whispering.

“All of him, just fake!”

The cracking was getting louder, the pain more intense. His head ached horribly.

Fake, fake, fake, were whispering the voices.

“Fake!”

One… two… three…

Francis heard the sound of breaking glass and before he knew it, his porcelain chest was shattering to pieces, and then it was silent again.

 

The air was heavy. The room was dark. A strange red light was glowing.

The dolls were still watching as silent tears flowed down Francis’s cheeks. The other Arthur’s head was down. He glanced at the smoking cup of tea that was still set on the table, and licked his lips. Taking something out of his pocket and pouring it into the drink, he pushed it towards Francis.

“Don’t cry dear, have a cup of tea.”

**Author's Note:**

> i dont even know what the fuck this is


End file.
